Glass Crown
by GoWithTheFlo20
Summary: Time and Destiny are interlinked. Time will only let you meddle with it if you are destined too. The problem? Time has not finished with Hermione Granger. After the war, Hermione finds herself in a whole new one. Or in fact an old one. Hermione must use her wits and intelligence if she is going to survive. A crown is the heaviest thing a head can bear. Richard III/Hermione. AU.
1. Down The Wrong Path

**DISCLAIMER- I own nothing but the plot.**

**AN-** I have had this idea running through my head since I first seen magic being used in The White Queen. Its completely AU. In this first chapter I really wanted to iron out just how wrong it is to let children fight in a war. Its hard and terrible enough for grown people but for a still growing mind the consequences would be disastrous. I also found it odd how Hermione was the only one who used a time turner, the books never really did clear that up (correct me if i'm wrong!). So i got the idea of a person only being able to mess with time if TIME itself meant for you too. I hope that came threw clearly in this chapter. I think Richard III and Hermiones personalities would click extremely well. Even though Anne/Richard are one of my OTPs.

If you read my other stories, Cry Little Sister and Unholy Convictions, the next chapters to them will be out by this weekend. If you don't and you like this chapter, check them out if you feel like it. Cry Little Sister is a Lost boys/Twilight fanfic and Unholy Convictions is a Twilight/The Borgias one.

I really hope you like this, honestly my mind is filled with crack pairings. Please review, it drives me to write more and i really do love hearing other peoples point of views. Bye for now!

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Hermione was seated on a plush chair fiddling with a letter. She was unsure whether to open it or not. The war had ingrained survival instincts inside her and she was dubious to open a letter from a long dead Hogwarts Headmaster. _What could Dumbledore possibly want me after the war?_ She thought long and hard on the matter but she could not come up with a feasible answer. She had been granted a visit by professor Trelawney, of all people, this morning. The woman had told her that Dumbledore had asked that she gives the letter to Hermione in the eventuality of the ending of the war and the light side coming out on top. It just did not make any sense at all.

It also brought up memories she would very well like to keep buried. There was not a single person who had not lost someone in the dismal times that they had gone through. Death eaters, Order of the phoenix and even innocent by standers and all felt the stinging pain of loss. It was the only thing that had united them all in the end. No one, no matter their blood preferences, wanted this to happen ever again.

Hermione was not exempt from the loss they had faced. She had lost her parents. She had foolishly thought that wiping their memories of her and packing them off to Australia would keep them safe. She was horribly wrong. Death eaters had hunted them down and slaughtered them like they were rabid dogs. They had died for a daughter they knew nothing of. It was salt in the already infected wound for Hermione. The Death eaters who had taken over the ministry had worked to ensure that the story got into the daily profit in full detail and Hermione had broken down at the images in the newspaper of her broken and bloody parents staring lifelessly back at her. That marked the first time in her life she had ever felt complete unadulterated anger and hatred.

It was insidious. The months following lead her down a path that she was not proud of. She dedicated all her time to getting stronger. No matter the consequences or ways she took to attain her goal. Not to help other people like her. Not for equality. Not even to make the world a better place. No, she grew stronger so she could put down those sick bastards that had done that to her mother and father. Sometimes she even dreamt of finding them and what she would do to them. It only made her more determined to be the best she possibly could.

It was when she was halfway through a duel that she had realised how far she had fallen. Some snatchers had caught up to them while they were hunting for Horcrux's and a fight broke out. Hermione let her rage get the better of her. She let it course through her, influence her actions. The consequences were horrid. The man she was duelling had thrown a Stupefy. He had not thrown a single dark curse her way but Hermione didn't bother with that fact. She wandlessly and nonverbally threw a Cruciatus curse at him and his screaming snapped her out of her blood lust.

She had just made use of same curse that they had used on her parents extensively. She didn't even think twice as she used it. She lifted the spell as soon as she thought it but she still violently shook. Her gut churned and acrid bile rose in her throat. She realised that she was no better than them. The man she was fighting most proberly had a family of his own. Maybe even a daughter who would shatter like she did if she ever learnt of his death. Hermione stumbled back and ran with a retreating Harry and Ron. She refused to look back at the man who lay sobbing on the damp forest floor.

She couldn't look Harry in the eye after that. Harry really was a step above them all. He had lost nearly everyone he had ever cared for. More times than not in violent ways. Yet he carried on. Bearing the burden of the wizarding world on his slim shoulders without complaint. Most importantly, he fought this war for the RIGHT reasons. Never making it about his own problems and experiences. He truly only fought for the better of others. When she looked at him, she saw her personal faults thrown back in her face. This dog fight had made her lose way, who she was. That hurt even more than the death of her parents.

She could not recognise herself anymore. When had she lost all qualms about hurting other people? When had she changed so much that she grew cheerful when she heard about a Death eater death? She felt like she wasn't the same person she was two years ago. She ceased to be that naive little girl who thought that the world was fair and justice would prevail. The little girl who tried to free the house elves and considered failing a test was the worst thing imaginable. But she couldn't be the person consumed so utterly by such hatred either.

She saw the truth now. The world was not black and white. It was made of shades of grey. The war had not only battered and scarred her body. It had fundamentally changed her. It changed how she saw the world around her. She was pleased in a way that she wasn't so single minded anymore. But she wished sometimes for some of her innocence back. Maybe some teenage years that was less blood splattered.

She was eighteen. The war had been over for two years now. The wizarding populace was grieving and celebrating at the same time. It was a truly odd mix. But all Hermione felt was... isolated. She did her part in the war but afterwards she felt out-of-place. She had dedicated most of her short life to the fall of pureblood supremacy ideologies, nearly all of her teenage years. She no longer knew what to do with herself. She thought she would return to Hogwarts but now that she was finally in the place to do so, the thought made her feel sick. While running around with Harry and Ron, before her parents untimely death, she would think about what N.E.W.T.S she would take if she ever made it back to the school. Now though, thinking about doing exactly what the girl she was before would do made her physically and mentally distressed. It didn't feel right.

She envied Ron a little bit for that. Even with the loss of Fred he never let slip of what he wanted to do. Maybe it was because he left her and Harry when things had gotten tough. He wasn't there when her and Harry would stay up all night because of the pure fear of being caught by snatchers or Death eaters. He missed the hours they had spent going over books just to go over them again, only to come up frustrated. He wasn't there when the feeling of their own death came crashing down upon them. They were just kids fighting an adult's war. When he hugged her at the battle of Hogwarts she couldn't even bring herself to lift her arms and hug him back.

It wasn't his fault. There was plenty of times that all she wanted to do was pack her bags and go home but she persevered. No matter how many dead bodies she saw fall or the torture she went threw at the hands of Bellatrix, she stuck too it. the feeling of being abandoned in a time of need by one of her best friends was a tough pill to swallow. Drifting away from Ron was only the beginning.

Harry was busy getting his life back in order. And for once it being under his own command. Add that to the fact that every time she saw him she saw the little girl she used to be, Hermione slowly parted ways from him too. It was neithers fault. They had both grown and in doing so, grown apart. They weren't the same people they used to be. Hermione's other friends soon followed. Until she found herself standing on her own. With only her parents empty house to keep her company. She had not heard from Harry or Ron in just shy of a year.

She had been living off her parents money that they had left her. Hermione used her free time wisely. She utilised it to re-find herself. Re-discover her likes and dislikes, to see who she was now. She found she liked who she was. She was no longer insecure. She was more open minded. Don't get her wrong. Life was hard still. Even two years after the war Hermione found that sometimes she would think she was back in the war. That she was about die. She would forget that it was all over and find herself in a severe panic attack. The littlest thing could set it off. The sound of a car alarm, When the T.V flashed a vivid green colour. It would take her a while to settle after one of those. They came few and far between the longer time passed.

The sting of loss from her parent's absence never really disappeared either but it got more bearable as time went by. The mental and physical wounds she bore from the war scabbed then eventually scarred over and Hermione found herself dreaming of one thing. A fresh start. She didn't know what to do the next day let alone for the rest of her life. Last she had heard from the wizarding world was Harry graduating as an Aura and Ron doing try-outs for professional Quidditch.

Here she was, fitting into neither the Wizarding or Muggle world. Spending most of her days reading. Hermione could practically feel her brain cells dwindling one by one. No matter how lonely she got she couldn't make herself go back to the wizarding world. She couldn't integrate properly back into the muggle world. She had always had one foot in both worlds but now she felt like she had lost her balance and had gone crashing down into nothingness. That was the hardest thing she faced. Not having a place to belong.

Hermione snapped back to the present and scoffed at herself. I've faced evil incarnate and I'm scared of a little letter? She ripped the aging letter open and withdrew the thick wad of parchment. Hermione stared slightly at her name in perfect cursive writing before opening the parchment and reading the letter from Dumbledore. From the date in the corner, he had written this to her a whole year before his death.

_**Dear Hermione Jane Granger,**_

_** I hope that this letter gets to you in good health. I have asked professor Trelawney to deliver it on what should be two years after the end of the Dark Lord. You see that destiny is a funny little thing. You may run and run until your hearts content, but eventually it will catch up to you.**_

_** I have been researching time travel extensively. As we both know you have previously had experience dabbling with time. I must confess to you that I gave you that time turner, not only for your academic purposes but for what I lay out to you now. Time is a fickle thing. It will only let a few truly wield it. And then only if Destiny permits so. You see I believe the two go hand in hand. How could they not?**_

_** As I'm sure you researched time turners when you had one, you know that only some wizards or witch's can use them. Others can try but they will not function. For this reason, it is destiny itself that chooses which and who can use them. In my research, I believe that the two works in tandem. Those who can use time turners are surely meant to use them. Unfortunately I am not among the few who can. Time turners and spells of such use refuse to work for me. So research has been my only option in this matter. But you can use them.**_

_** You took to the time turner like a duck to water. I have never met or read about a person who could use one like you did, apart from the maker of time turners himself. This is why I write to you.**_

_** I have found something that, in a way, defies time. Blood . It carries information from thousands of years ago. Your genes have been transferred from your ancestors and these genes are still in your blood. You inherited your hair from an ancestor and in a way that is time travel itself.**_

_** I digress. The point is that Time will only let you meddle with it, if you're meant to. Time excepted you with open arms and for that I think you have not finished your journey with it quite yet. After years of research, I have made a spell. I believe it is you who is meant to use it. Before you panic , as I have said, if you are not supposed to use the spell, Time itself would not let it work.**_

_** The spell will lock onto your blood. It will also lock onto the same blood that ran through your ancestors veins. The spell will, in frank, let time and destiny take you to where you were originally designed to go. With the time turner, you had control of how far you went back. In theory, letting you use time for your ends when this spell will send you back but for the purposes Time itself let you use it for. Fulfilling your link you always bore with time will send you back.**_

_** I have also weaved in memory charms into the spell. Your ancestors will have memories of a life with you. It will enable you to blend in. There is nothing more suspicious than a young girl popping up out of the blue. You should also obtain these memories too. The specifics are not important.**_  
_**You must be a hundred percent sure you are fully prepared to do this. There will be no coming back. Once you fulfill going back to when time had intended you to go, It will not let you meddle with it any further. In short, Time turners or time spells will no longer work for you. If you decide to go, you will not be coming back. I KNOW you are meant to do this. This is your destiny . Remember that.**_

_** I have enclosed the spell with this letter. Just cut your finger and bleed onto the incantation as you speak it. The spell will do the rest.**_  
_** Sincerely,**_

Hermione let the letter flutter from her fingers and onto her lap. Her mind whirling. She believed him about time but destiny? That was something she had a hard time putting any faith in. Plus she can not forget this is Dumbledore. He may tell you two things about you and the path you're heading down but you can bet he's got another ten up his sleeve. 'specifics are not important' gave her reason to be concerned. The letter was informative yet completely not at the same time. Something only Dumbledore could pull off. What ancestors will I be linked to?

Then a traitorous spark of hope lit up in her chest. What if she was sent back to Tom Riddles time. She could change so much. God, she could save her parents from their gruesome death. She could fix so many wrongs. On the bad side, she would be going back into an environment that had changed her so much already. At the end of this would she lose herself again. Hermione shook her head at the thought. She was older now. She knew who she was. She would never let herself go down that path again.

If she got sent to a different time what would it matter? As Dumbledore had written, time only let you meddle with it if you were meant too. Was this what she was meant to do with her life? She couldn't see herself sitting behind a desk. It would drive her up the wall.

Who would really miss her anyway? If things go wrong, which there more than likely to with Dumbledore being the puppet master again, then she doesn't have anyone here to mourn her. No family or friends left. She doubted they would even realise she was gone. She was wondering what she was going to do with the rest of her life and here was her chance to see what laid beyond the velvet curtain.

Hermione grasped the envelope and took out the parchment with the spell on. She didn't bother to get up and find a pin or knife to cut her finger. It was now or never. If she waited she would lose courage. She used a quill that was laying on her desk by her and none too gently opened the skin on her index finger. The blood bubbled up immediately. She read the incantation a few times in her mind before she even ventured to speak it out loud. If she spoke one wrong word something terrible could happen, especially seen as this is involved blood magic.

Only when she was sure she had it down, she hovered her finger over the spell and let her blood drop onto it. Her voice was husky as she repeated the words. She pulled her finger away as her blood moved forward on its own, covering the incantation and dissolving into the parchment like ink. The paper glowed golden and as Hermione felt the magic wrap around her and inside her she mentally cursed Dumbledore.

The magic running rampant through her was too strong. Way too intense to just transport her fifty years into the past. She could feel that slight tugging sensation in her chest that felt like dissaperation. She attempted to fight against it but it grew every second. Dumbledoore knew she would think that she was going back to Tom Riddles era. It was that reason that he hadn't told her what time she would really be going to. He knew the only way to even get her to contemplate going back would be to make her think she could help prevent the war from happening.

She mentally called Dumbledore every curse word she knew. She was losing the battle and soon the magic would win. She couldn't move for her wand for the sheer force of the magic made her immobile. _Shit! What the hell have I gotten myself into!_ Hermione struggled harder but to no avail. The magic was mounting and she was having difficulty in breathing now.

Hermione wondered what Dumbledore got out of this. What use was it sending her so far back into the past? He said it was her destiny but Hermione refused that notion. Man made his own fate. Not some unseeing force.

Hermione would of stumbled if she could move. Her blood felt like it had bubbled and any second she would float away. The weight had lifted and she felt a tingling sensation in her hands. Lifting them up Hermione screamed. She was disintegrating into golden sand. Her fingers went first and then her hands as it quickly worked it way up. Hermione cursed her luck before she knew no more.


	2. In For A Penny

Consciousness came to Hermione instantaneously. She jerked awake and scrambled back. Breathing heavily, Hermione glanced around the room she currently found herself in. The room was bright and spacious with a large circular window. The ceiling was slanted and Hermione guessed she was in an attic room. Looking down, Hermione found herself tangled up in rough cotton sheets that felt like they had been starched one too many. The cotton scratched on her already sensitive skin and the mattress she was sitting on was filled with a lumpy mass. Hermione assumed it was straw with the way some lumps were poking her.

A sudden movement to her left made Hermione snap to attention. an older woman with luscious blonde hair was leaning towards her, in nothing but a long white shift. Worry deeply etched onto her face as she reached towards Hermione and smoothed down some of her curls. The dam broke. Memories she had never lived came pouring into her mind, making up a life she had never had. The pressure in her head was tortuous. It was as if her synapsis were popping one by one. Jacquetta, Anthony, her brothers, her sisters, her father, Elizabeths wedding, Her nephews births, learning to horse ride, The war of the Lancaster's and York's, her sisters husbands death. Faster and faster the memories came until it was a blur of feelings and images non-stop. Playing, learning, tears, laughter, happy childhood...Simply living. POP, POP, POP, POP, POP. Hermione thought her brain was about to melt through her eye sockets any second. The pain was indescribable.

Hermione raised her hands to her forehead and clutched at it, groaning in pain. It was too much. Too, too, too much. Like a tap being turned off, memories slowed down and filtered off to drips before completely stopping altogether. For what seemed to be a lifetime, Hermione took a ragged breath. She ran a violently shaking hand through her mussed hair. She had to give it to Dumbledore, he never did things by half. Even with the absolute knowledge that the memories were fake, Hermione had never felt anything so real. It was not merely the memories. She had emotions attached to them too. She remembered how happy she was when Elizabeth had given birth. How scared she was when she got lost horseback riding.

What made Hermione's eyes tear up was the case that she had a loving family here. A childhood with no megalomaniac to tear it to shreds. No torture at the hands of a demented witch. Here, in this life she had not had to strive for her right to even exist. She was happy here and that was something Hermione hadn't felt in a long, long time.

It felt like home. God, all Hermione ever dreamed of was a home. She didn't fully fit in with the muggles because she could do magic and she never really fitted in with the wizarding world because she was a little bit too much muggle. Here was another matter all together. These people could do magic. Rudimentary magic but they held the spark all the same. Not on her level of magic but instead of breeding jealousies or them isolating her, they accepted her. They didn't distance themselves because of what she could do, no, they were...Proud. Especially Jacquetta. Even her real parents had not taken to her abilities so well.

Hermione love Jean and Graham granger but magic was a wedge that had forever fractured their relationship. They didn't fully understand what she was capable of, and like always the unknown had scared them. They loved her, but every time she brought up Hogwarts or anything to do with magic, they would change the topic. Pretended it didn't exist. Denial was their greatest friend when it came to what their daughter could do.

Jacquetta and these people didn't just accept her for who she was. They helped her cultivate her magic. Instead of turning away from the tricks she pulled, they smiled and called for an encore. All was not smelling of roses though. Hermione was in the 1400s. If anyone outside of her family caught a whiff of what she could do, she would find herself with a one way ticket to a burning stake. Hermione wondered if she was ever going to get away from the looming threat of a gruesome death.

A gentle hand at her cheek brought her out of her morbid thoughts. Jacquetta was frowning in worry as she cupped Hermione's face. "You are pale Hermione. Are you ill child?" Hermione reached up and clutched at her 'mothers' hand that rested upon her cheek.

"I am fine. A nightmare is all. A terrible nightmare. But it's all over now. I do not have to see it again." And Hermione meant it. There was no going back to her original time even if she wanted to. And she didn't. For once in her short life she was going to be selfish. This could very well be the fresh start she had been searching so hard for. She had a family here. People who were her friends. Most importantly, she wouldn't be further reminded of the terrible war every which way she looked. In simple terms, she could live!

The memories she had just been landed with might have been fake but in a way they were equally as real as any other memories she had. She knew these people inside out. Knew their favourite colours and foods. Just as they knew here inside and out. She would never forget her real family and friends or anyone from her actual time. It was impossible to. They meant too much to her. But it had gotten so dark and twisted for her back in her own time. Everyone had moved on and maybe it was her time now. Sure, Time traveling into the past to start fresh was unconventional, but when had Hermione ever done anything that was regarded as normal? Begrudgingly, Hermione mentally tipped her hat to Dumbledore. Maybe the old man knew what he was doing all along. As her grandmother used to say 'never look a gift horse in the mouth'. Hermione intended to do just that.

Elizabeth, with her dazzling blonde hair, peeked out from behind a wooden beam that helped hold up the ceiling. Hermione thought if you looked at Jacquetta, you could see what Elizabeth would look like in twenty years time. Blonde hair and blue eyes were prominent in the Woodville family. Especially in the women. However, Hermione took after her 'brother', Anthony and her 'father' Baron rivers, when he was not grey haired. Even then, people made the point how Hermione didn't resemble the Woodville women. Hermione chuckled slightly at that. Of course, she didn't. She happened to be their descendant from a good five hundred years into the future.

Elizabeth came around and took a place on Hermione's crumpled bed, in the same kind of shift Hermione and Jacquetta dawned. "Perhaps you should not read so much before bed dear sister. God himself knows your mind is already filled to the brim with dusty literature. Hermione laughed and the sound shocked her a little. _When was the last time I laughed?_ Sadly, she could not remember when the last time was. _Yes, maybe this is where I am meant to be._

Hermione untangled herself from the stubborn sheets and plucked up a woollen dress the was resting on a small table by her bed. It was softer than the cotton sheets and a deep blue. Not caring about her audience Hermione began to get dressed. She had lived in a dorm room where privacy for getting dressed was limited. Elizabeth had emerged from behind her and pushed her hair over her shoulder so she could help Hermione with the back laces. Elizabeths fingers were quick with the fiddly task.

"You know that i could never do that Lizzie. Night time is the best time to read after all." Once the dress was on, Hermione deftly ran her fingers through her thick curls. Thanking merlin that her hair had sorted itself out as she grew up. The frizz she was notorious for in her younger years was all but gone now, leaving behind a mane of caramel coloured curls that glinted in the sunlight. After somewhat taming her hair into a presentable mess, Hermione kissed Elizabeth and Jacquettas cheeks before brushing out of the room. Even up in the attic Hermione could smell the cooked food from the kitchens. The food called to her like a siren does to a sailor. She was famished.

The house was huge, especially opposed to the town house Jean and Graham owned. Hermione ran her fingers along the wall as she walked down the hallways and stairs. She could practically feel the history seep into her skin from the brick. This was her chance to view history first hand. Hermione was not naive though. This time in history was not going to be a walk in the park. Disease, war and death ran rampant in this time. Hermione had seen and gone through a lot worse. Maybe it was her Gryffindor ego that was speaking but Hermione thought if she could face off Voldemort and his followers. She could survive this.

Hermione came into a large open planned kitchen and saw her other 'siblings' fighting over breakfast that was placed on a substantial oak table. The scene made her think of the many Weasley get together and instead of the usual grief that accompanied the thought Hermione found herself smiling broadly. Second chances didn't come for many people and she would not allow this go to waste. The atmosphere was buzzing with cheerful banter and laughs. Hermione made her way to an empty seat and plonked herself down. She managed to scavenge some bacon and eggs from the enormous dishes on the table and dived into the food like she was a starving man. Anthony handed her some bread and Hermione smiled her thanks to him. It was warm from the oven and she took a whiff before biting into it. It tasted as good as it smelled.

Jacquetta and Elizabeth came into the kitchen not long after Hermione had arrived. Elizabeth appeared to be ranting, waving her hands out in front of her as she spoke. Hermione watched them as she reached over and added some more strips of bacon to her plate and added some milk to her cup. The last time she had been this hungry and thirsty was when she was on the run with harry and they hadn't eaten in a good three days. His memory brought a twinge of sadness to her gut but she pushed it away. She wouldn't let this chance slip her by because she couldn't let go of the past. If everyone else could move forward, then so could she.

Elisabeth was filling up her plate as she carried on speaking. "Those lands were my boys livelihood mother. I cannot and will not sit by and watch as they grow and have nothing to their name. We are going to wait by the west country road. The king will pass by there this noon on his campaign and I will ask for an audience with him." Hermione took a sip of milk as she mulled over Elizabeths words. Her mind was slightly fractured and jumbled with memories of two different lives and it took her a while to recognise what Elizabeth was going on about.

After the Lancastrian and York war, that finished with Henry Tudor running for his life. The lands that would have went to Elizabeths sons after their fathers death were seized under the name of the king. In frank, Hermione's 'nephews' were left Destitute. No lands or money to their name. In a time like this, That alone could ruin lives. Marriage would be harder to secure and when they reached adulthood they would have no house to reside in. It was virtually a giant 'FUCK YOU' to her ancestors. Hermiones notorious Gryffindor temper flared to life in vibrancy.

It wasn't her 'nephews' who raised their sword against Edward Plantagenet. No matter how much she had changed over the years one thing stayed forever the same. Hermiones deep need to see justice done. She may no longer be pedantic over little things but to take someone's livelihood from them definitely was no trivial matter. She found herself outraged on her 'sisters' and 'nephews' behalf. It only got worse when her jumbled mind came up with a memory. Hermione was the first to hold little Tomas when he was born and again when he cried over his father's death.

Hermione dusted her hands off crumbs on her dress's skirt, finishing her mouthful before she spoke. "I would not ask for an audience. I would demand one. Arrogant little prick has left those boys nothing." Hermione grimaced as nearly everyone at the table shouted her name. Anthony however, patted her knee under the table and gave her a sly grin. Hermione returned it.

"Hermione! Do not curse at the table! Especially in regards to the king." Hermione attempted to look as innocent and reproachful as she could as she nodded to Jacquetta . The blonde woman in question only tilted her head slightly as if to indicate she didn't buy the act one bit.

Elizabeth spoke after she swallowed the mouthful of eggs. "Calm little sister. For future reference, if the king does grace our home, please do not call him an arrogant little prick. I believe he would not take too well to that." She may of had a joking lilt to her statement but Hermione could tell she was being deadly serious at the same time.

"I will try to keep my thoughts and tongue under lock and key Lizzie." Hermione gulped down the last of her milk, pushed away from the table and got up. Elisabeth had one eyebrow rose and a grin playing on her lips.

"Will you inform me when you are actually capable of just that?" Hermione laughed as she made her way out of the kitchen back door and into the fresh winter air. As the door closed behind her, she came out of her joyful mood in a flash.

The banter between her and Elisabeth reminded her of the jokes she used to share with Harry and Ron. The enormity of what was happening finally settled on her shoulders and she couldn't shake it off. She was far away from everything she had ever known. In a time, she really didn't know much about. She had focused her studies on to witchcraft and her knowledge of muggle history was limited. She was without her wand. She could do wandless magic perfectly but she knew she would miss the weight of the enchanted wood in her palm.

Loneliness was a powerfully emotion though. And even with all the problems she knew she was going to face, she was glad she wouldn't be feeling that crushing, insidious emotion any longer. She could form real bonds here. The people around her wouldn't simply like to be friends with her for her intelligence like a lot of people were guilty of in her own time.

Maybe she had made a huge mistake doing that spell. No matter all his faults, Dumbledore had never really lead someone truly wrong. She would put her faith in him. After all what else could she do now?

Hermione wandered around the grounds for a little while before returning indoors. When she found herself in a tough spot or emotionally drained as she was currently, she would hit the books. It took her mind off her problems for a little while and the respite was needed. With nothing needing to be done, Hermione headed up to the room she shared with Elisabeth to grab some books. She would rest in a parlour for a few hours and blurry herself deep into written words.

* * *

Hermione was flickering between two bulky tomes when the door to the room she sat in was opened with a creek. She finished the sentences she was on before looking up and taking in the scene. Elizabeths hair was wind blown and her cheeks were flushed a lively pink. The man who stood behind her had boyish good looks with an aura of mischievousness. Hermione had the of thought that she was looking at a blonder version of Sirius black.

Hermione rose from her seat and gave a short, stilted courtesy to who she presumed was the king. She then closed the books, piling them on top of each other and held them to her chest as she made her way out of the room. Halfway out the large, brightly lit room she changed her mind and came to a halt in front of Elizabeth and the king. Elizabeth was more than capable of talking him into giving her lands back, but Hermione wanted him to see that he shouldn't have took them in the first place. Plus she wanted to find out what sort of man Elizabeth would have to deal with.

"Have you decided on giving my sister her lands back?" She realised too late that she hadn't even addressed him as your grace. She made a mental note to remember that titles were important in this day and age and not calling someone by theirs was a large slight to them. Thankfully he didn't seem to care as he grinned, white teeth shining in sunlight flooding from the large windows. Hermione could definitely see Sirius in him now.

"I am here to discuss the prospects of such, yes." Hermiones lips pursed momentarily before she straightened out her face. He was a smart one she would give him that. He chose his words carefully and precisely and said them with an air of joyfulness that you overlooked what exactly he had said. Hermione however was no new-born to people who wielded words as if they were weapons and shields. She had been at the end of Severus Snapes tongue lashings before and no one could verbally strip a person down like he could or make a statement that left you confused whether it was a compliment or a derision.

"Prospects? Well your grace, while mulling that around perhaps you could think about that it was not my nephews or sister who fought for the Tudors." His grin faltered a little and his jaw clenched momentarily before relaxing. Hermione would have missed it if she was less inept at people watching. She had hit a nerve and Hermione steeled her spine. It was not clever to prod a king but Hermione had always had trouble keeping her mouth shut. She had dug her hole now and she decided she would adhere to it. In for a penny in for a beheading it seemed.

"Lady Woodville, I would like to remind you it is a king's prerogative to distribute lands as he sees fit." Hermione couldn't clamp down the laugh as it burst forward. Elizabeth had grown pale. Her hand kept twitching as if she wished to reach over and usher Hermione out of the room. Hermione held her ground as her temper got the better of her. A vase on the table by the wall shook before Hermione had a chance to reel in her magic. Both the king and Elizabeth glanced at the vase. Luckily the king blew the whole thing off with a small shake of his head but Elizabeth stared at her with wide eyes. Hermione would have to ensure that it never happened again or she was going to be burned alive by the end of the year. She would be damned if she was going to die because she could not control herself.

"And your Grace, I would like to remind you that Henry Tudor thought the same before he lost his crown." That was when Hermione wanted to cut her own tongue out. She was certainly heading to the chopping block now. Hermione mentally shook herself for her own stupidity. It was clear that she had no self preservation instincts at all. She may as well hand the king an axe and bare her neck for him right now.

"HERMIONE!" She didn't need to look at Elizabeth to see the horrified expression on her face. She could picture it quite well already.

"I am very sorry your grace. I spoke out of turn. I just wish not to see the love and loyalty my family has for you and your crown disregarded. I am sure you understand?" Seconds passed by slowly and Hermione found herself holding her breath. Then the grin on his face came back tenfold and Hermione sighed in relief. She would get to keep her head for another day.

"I understand perfectly Lady Woodville and I too wish for the same." Hermione bowed one last time before she exited the room as fast as her feet could carry her. She had already put her foot in her mouth. She feared if she stayed any longer she would try to cram her whole leg down there. When Hermione reached the hallway she grasped the door handle and pulled the door to, looking at the couple that now sat at the table she had vacated.

They were leaning towards each other as they chatted away. Hermione had a foreboding feeling that this wasnt going to be the last she saw of the king with Elizabeth. She shook it off and walked away from the room. Still tightly clutching the books she held to her chest. It wasnt her business if the king and Elizabeth got closer or not. Hermione knew when and where to pick her battles and she had a feeling that she would surely lose that one if she ever took it up. No, if Elizabeth was happy then that is all that mattered. Hermione knew how scarce happiness could be in a time of war and who was she to get in the way of it?

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END AN- Next chapter Hermione deals with a secret wedding, an upset Elizabeth, a pissed off warwick, an quite frank slytherin mother in law and most importantly... Hermione and Richard meet for the first time. So keep tuned!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please Favourite, Follow and Review if you want to. They make my day :)

Until then! -GoWithTheFlo20


	3. Tricked Indeed

**A.N**\- I know, it's been a long time, but i couldn't leave this story, especially as I've started reading the sunne in splendour. I'm sorry for the long wait, but i hope this chapter will make up for it. I had to split this chapter into three, the word count growing way to big to simply fit into one chapter. So, bonus, the next two chapters should be out very soon! Richard doesn't make an appearance this chapter but should in not the next one, but the one after that and that's when everything starts picking up pace. I promise, i just need these chapters out to lay some ground work first.

Well, i hope you enjoy and please, if you have the time, review! -GoWithTheFlo20

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Hermione had no idea what was going on, or why she found herself being led into the darkening, twilight forest with her mother and sister. One moment she was at home, in bed, reading a rather intriguing book on trading in eastern Europe when her mother Jacquetta had come barging in, in a flurry of cream dress and dark cloak. Almost instantaneously the woman was upon her, scooping her out of bed and into her own dress and cloak. Her questions fell on deaf ears as Jacquetta urged her out of the house and into the woods, grabbing and dragging Elizabeth on the way. By the look on Lizzies face, she was just as confused about this turn of events as she, herself was. Every time either one of them asked what was going on, Jacquetta increased her pace untill eventually Hermione was practically jogging to keep up with the taller women.

Hermione crashed into the back of Jacquetta when they came to an abrupt holt, barely managing to keep herself on her feet and surely bruising her cheek on her mothers corset. Once she settled herself, with a quick rubb to the hurt cheek, Hermione curiously peeked out from behind Jacquetta to see what they had come all this way for.

A tree, it seemed was the reason for their hurried haste. It was tall, old, thick and stood proudly next to a babbling brook. It dwarfed all the other trees surrounding them, making it seem prominently more important and more... majestic than the others. Dubiously, Hermione followed Elizabeth and Jacquetta around the imposing oak until they stood next to it, facing the brook. Becoming more bewildered when all she found were shining wires.

"Magic?! Really mother! What if some one sees?"

Hermione cringed at the shrill voice of Elizabeths indignation. Surely if anyone was close enough to see what they were doing, they were close enough to hear Elizabeth, and consequently what they were up too. Hermione crept closer to the great oak tree, skirts dragging across the ground, and ran her hand lovingly up and dark the rough bark. She had never seen or heard of a spell such as this. Then again, wand wielders didn't need to practice magic quite like this. In all, it was fascinating to see. If only she had thought to bring a quil and parchment before her mother scooped her off into the night.

"Quiet Elizabeth! They will not see."

Jacquetta gave Elizabeth a scowl that made even Hermione quake a little. It reminded her of that one glimpse she caught of the Basilisk in her second year. Something powerful enough to leave you as still as stone. It was tremendously more frightening when held by a human face.

"What does this spell do?"

At the sound of her voice, her mother and sister turned towards her. Jacquetta smiling so brightly as she held onto the wires wrapped around the tree. The flickering moonlight made them glint and shine, finally allowing Hermione to see where they led to, the brook. The flowing water pulled and pushed them slightly as it moved, making the wires dance in the limited light of the night and moon up above.

"It tells what is to come, what path you will head down. In short, your future."

And that was when Hermione lost all interest and respect for the spell. Divination was not a subject Hermione took to heart. The thought of a pre-destined path was something that Hermione revolted against with everything she had. She was a stout believer of free will, and whatever consequences they brought to your front door. Future prediction was for the Con-artist and the gullible in Hermiones books. Neither categories Hermione believed she fit into.

"Why am i here then? You know i do not believe in... This."

The grin on Jacquettas face didn't even splinter at Hermiones tone, instead it shone on brighter. Reaching over, her mother ran a hand up and down her arm comfortingly.

"Because i think you should be and so you shall be."

Jacquetta glanced towards a weary looking Elizabeth, holding out the hand that clutched the wires towards the blonde.

"Pick one."

Elizabeth delicately ran her fingers over each wire before she settled over the one furthest to the right, nodding minutely, she pulled it away from the rest and held it towards her chest. Jacquetta reached into her cloaks pocket and pulled out a pair of tailor scissors, opening the blades, she brought them closer and closer towards the bundle of wires she held.

"No!"

To her dying day, Hermione could never explain why she did what she did. Her mind blanked momentarily and she lunged for the wires, snatching a middle on from the glittering group. Her heart beat frantically in her chest, so loud she could hear the pounding in her ear drums. Her hand shook slightly as she held the wire in the death grip, in fact so hard it sliced into her wedding finger. The sting was quick but sharp enough to bring her back to her senses.

"I told you, you should be here. Next time, listen to your mother."

It took Hermione a few seconds to compute what Jacquetta had said. Not trusting her voice, she nodded. It was all she could muster up. She didn't believe in any of this. How could she? She had spent a majority of her Hogwarts years watching Trelawney make a fool of herself. She believed that some things you could garner, but fate had a fickle way of making you not understand them until it proved to late and the prophecy was fulfilled. Making it impossible to try and dodge the bad things hurtling your way. It was a mute point. Why try and learn the futures secrets if you can't change it?

Take Sirius as an example. Trelawney prophesied his coming by reacting to the Grim. However, she ended up wrong. She thought death was after Harry (which was true in its own sense), but the Grim itself represented Sirius's animagus, not death. Only Sirius and a few of his closest friends knew this, making it impossible for Harry, Trelawney or herself to predict what was to come. What was the point in showing them this anyway, if only to prove they can't fight against what will happen? To give her a headache? Because that was the only thing she ever got from Divination.

Hermione glimpsed movement from her left, catching her eye. Elizabeth was bending down to the moss covered floor, plucking up two short, stubby twigs. She straightened out and handed one to Hermione.

"Reel it in a foot a day girls. No more, no less."

Hermione scoffed. The sound transformed into a puff of smoke in the frigid air. Subconsciously, she pulled her cloak further around her self, in hopes of fighting off the chill trying to take up home in her bones. Whether it was the weather or the turn of events, Hermione couldn't tell. Nothing ever good came from this type of witchcraft. Dutifully Hermione copied Elizabeths movements and reeled in the wire, even as dread sank her stomach. Bending down, Hermione placed the bundle gently onto the forest ground, on top of a moss covered rock.

The air around the women was stuffy with tension and pensive thought. Hermione had enough of the pressure of it all and decided to break the atmosphere that encased her as good as any stone wall. Turning to Elizabeth, she smiled broadly.

"I pray it's that book from town i was eyeing the other day."

Thankfully her attempt worked and Elizabeth laughed, soon followed by Jacquetta. Hermiones shoulders sagged in relief. Their mother herded them back the way they came, wrapping an arm around both girls. A few feet away Hermione glanced behind her shoulder on last time, watching the tree fade into the darkness of the night.

* * *

Hermione roughly twirled the thin wire around the little stick of bark, her body completing the task even though her mind was far, far away. Everything over the last weeks had gone down hill, irrevocably crashed and burned. Everything seemed to be fraying around the edges, and Hermione worried how many more threads would come loose before the fabric actual disintegrated in her hands.

The first blow had gone to sweet Elizabeth. Hermione didn't know the full story, thought she never would with how Elizabeth safeguarded everything that linked back to the king. What she did know was that it had been going well, her sister taking on a blushed hue whenever the king was brought up, letters practically flying through their household each day, all addressed to Elizabeth.

Then one morning the blonde had gone to see the king, only to come back not half hour past, wind wept and in a angry haze of heavy footsteps and clenched hands. Elizabeths temper settled over the next few days, but no more letters ever came, no more quick meetings in the woods surrounding the estate, even when Elizabeth kept writing dutifully.

Elizabeth became twitchy over time, Hermione often caught her staring out one of the stone and delicate glass windows, fur shrug wrapped tightly around her small shoulders in only her shift, barefoot and hair in tangles on her head.

Her appearance wasn't what set Hermione on edge, no, she had pulled enough all nighters reading or researching to have any qualms with it. Her expression of a discontent forlorning was what had Hermiones teeth clenched so tight. The reason for Elizabeths lack of sleep didn't belong to her children, or their futures, or the state England was in right now, no, it lead back to the king.

Hermione was running out of patience for it, had nearly snapped and raged when her little nephew, Tomas came to her room crying about a night terror filled with snow and war, clashing of swords and his fathers untimely death, his mother too busy enshrouded in her own problems. But Hermione held back, tucked Tomas into her side, encased them both in the stitched blankets, and hushed the puffy, red eyed boy to sleep with soft and gentle fingers through tawny colored curls and whispers of assurance.

In Hermiones book, family always came first, especially in a time of war. Kings and would be romances fell last. All too soon, she was distracted by her anger at her sister with something much worse.

War was drawing close, too close for Hermiones comfort, and it seemed to be the same for her father. She saw, even when her siblings didn't, the lines on his face become deeper, his skin more taunt, his smile less than its normal brightness of a forever jolly man. Anthony and the Baron tried to reassure her when she brought it up, tried to play it down, but Hermione was not stupid and after a hearty scoff and derisions on her part, had simply taken to trying to ease her worries with facts, not down play them with words of sweet nothings.

The fact was the war was happening, and everyday, every hour, it was drawing closer and closer to their home, their lands and the villagers. Hermione had already lived through one war, had lost her friends and family to its hungry jaws, she was determined not for it to happen again. Even if she had to out her magic, get tied to a stake and set alight, her family would be standing at the end of this, she would make sure of it.

A soft chuckle escaped her mouth, fogging in the chilly air and floating away to the heavens as she thought. Family, it was a strange thing to say, these people were her family, the foundations she stood on. In such a short amount of time, they had managed to wiggle themselves into her heart, Hermione knew, even without the memories implanted in her head, given enough time with them, she would have come to the same conclusions about them. They were her family.

The soft plop and hustle of fallen leaves and twigs at the river bank snapped her right out of her own mind, not an easy task she had heard from people who knew her. It took her a few moments to realize what the noise was. Her wire had come free from its watery home of the past weeks.

Now the damned thing was out, Hermione wasn't so sure she actually wanted to see. It was no secret that Hermione laughed at anything, even the slightest, related back to divination. But something about this felt old, so old, and true. Sometimes when the moon peaked through the wisps of clouds and shone down upon them, Hermione could swear she could feel magic in the air, thrumming through the foliage and swirling around the lake.

It scared her, she was honest enough to admit that to herself, if not to anyone else. Only her exasperation of being out every night , reeling the wire in and knowing if she didn't look, it was all for nothing, was what spurred her feet to move. The crunching of deadened leaves and mossy floor was her only companion as she edged closer to her prize, the comforting sound dying out when she finally reached her destination and bent down. She had to brush the leaves out the way and tug the wire to finally find what lay on the end.

With shaking fingers, she pulled the piece of torn fabric from the floor, laying it on her palm as she eyed it up. The fabric was thick, well made, crushed velvet, and even in the dim light could see it was a gem stone blue, deep but decadent. On it stood proudly a broach, intricately wrought out of gold, a bore, husks and all with blue gems for eyes.

At the bottom was, stitched in golden thread, a large, vagrant R and underneath, in a scrawling and cursive script, was stitched three words. Loyaulte me lie. Hermione didn't need help translating it, she had spent to many hours hunched over, reading Latin tomes, some so old they flaked at the corners. She guessed the first letter was someones initials, but the torn fabric had ripped away the last initial.

"Loyalty binds me."

She didn't mean to speak the words, but found them dancing in the still night anyway. Hermione nearly jumped a foot in the air when Elizabeth spoke up from behind her, obviously having come over when she saw Hermione going to collect it.

"Let me have a look."

Hermione nearly flung the fabric at her, but managed only to harshly push the thing at her general direction. After all this wasted effort, all she got was torn fabric and a broach? Talk about a waist of time. Elizabeth plucked it from Hermiones hand, running her thumb over the fabric as she looked it over with a keen eye. Hermione wasn't kept in suspense for too long, Elizabeths face and voice taking on a warm and excited tone she hadn't heard since the kings disappearance.

"A wedding doublet. A fine one at that, fit for a princess. It seems marriage is in the stars for you dear sister. Oh, i would love to meet the man that could get you away from your books and papers for more than an hour!"

Suddenly the seriousness of the situation died at Elizabeths speech. Marriage, Hermione married? That was as likely as her sprouting wings and becoming the next dark lord. Hermione scoffed as she stood up, dusting her hands on her flowing skirts and cloak. She knew it was a bunch of crock, everything about future telling was, the magic she thought she had felt must have been her mind playing tricks.

But this was the most emotion she had seen on her sisters face, and if only to hold it for a few minutes more, she would humor her. Worst come worse, she could sell that broach herself and buy the book she had been eyeing at the villagers small but interesting book shop.

"Do we know anyone with the letter R for their first name? Or whose family motto is Loyaulte me lie?"

Finally, Elizabeths gaze was taken away from Hermiones gift as the blonde squared her with a gaze as she doubtless ran families and names through her mind faster than the flickering of pages in a book.

"No... No we do not."

Elizabeth handed the fabric back, and Hermione took it with cautious hands. Gazing at it, she muttered a quick drying spell and watched as the dark blue came roaring to life, lighter and dryer than it was before.

"That never stops amazing me."

Hermione gave her a small smile at her declaration. Once again having forgotten Elizabeth was there at all. Hermione would need to get her act together, she was never normally this disconnected from the situation. Blaming the clothe and broach in her hands, she non too gently shoved it into her inner cloak pocket. Out of sight, out of mind. Trying to push away from her own fortune telling, she spoke up in a clear voice.

"So, go on then, keep me guessing no longer, what have you been given this night?"

Elizabeth fumbled into her own pocket, pulling out something small and shining, handing it over with a smile etched on her own face. Hermione took the object and turned it around in her own hands, fighting down the smile on her own face.

It was a ring, silver, in the design of what Hermione believed was a crown. Now she understood Elizabeths decent back to planet earth and the real world. A wedding ring, a crowned wedding ring, it wasn't really that difficult to link it all together to the king.

Hermione handed it back to Elizabeths waiting hands. Linking her arm through Elizabeths crooked elbow, the two set back up the pathway to their home.

Hermiones first reaction was to scoff at the whole thing, her wedding doublet and broach, Elizabeths wedding ring. But with Elizabeth smiling at her so, she couldn't bring herself to snatch away the only happiness the woman had found in weeks. Instead she quelled herself and made light of the situation, something she was infinitely good at when something didn't sit right in her gut.

"I think we've been had Lizzy. This is all one giant jest from mother dearest. You're wedding ring, my doublet. I believe mother is trying to play matchmaker once more. I'm sure if we reeled in all the wires, they would all be wedding related. I knew she was up to no good by bringing me along."

Her plan worked, Elizabeth laughed good naturedly and jostled her shoulder. Yes, tricked indeed.

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**Next Chapter- **War finally comes knocking on Hermiones door, and a sour Warwick makes his entrance.


	4. Damned Lancastrian Uprisings

The day had started out like many others Hermione had witnessed in the months following her tumble through time, bright and clear crisp skies and lands but with a sharp edge of coldness to the air. With nothing much to do to occupy her mind, a part from follow her mother or sisters around which grew boring as time ticked on, or annoy Anthony to the point he would either laugh it off or storm out of the room, Hermione more often then not lately found herself in her loft of a bedroom. Perched on her bed, hefty book from the Rivers small but moderate library open in her lap as her eyes skimmed the text, taking in words but never fully registering them. Something was coming, she could feel it in the marrow of her bones. It made Hermione hesitant to stray very far from her family.

A quick concession of raps on her wooden door pulled her away from her fruitless reading. It was a habit by now, even knowing she wasn't fully absorbed in the book, it helped her focus partially on something other then the dread that was creeping up her spine like ivy vines day by day. With a muffled 'Come in' the door swung open, creaking as it did so. Hermione let her eyes greet the half haggard visage of her brother, Anthony. His hair stood up in the oddest places, making Hermione think he had ran his hand through it multiple times. Anthony was stressed and with how laid back he normally was, it did not bode well at all.

He came over to her bed with sure but cautious steps. Straight off the bat Hermione knew he wanted to broach a subject that would not go well with her. He was buying his time, thinking and re-thinking his approach, his wording, fiddling with his fingers and what looked like, looking at everything and everywhere but directly at her. Hermione had half the mind to reach over and slap him up the back of his head, telling him while she did so to just get it over with. Thankfully she didn't need to as Anthony huffed and plopped down on the edge of her bed with a flop of his limbs, just by her hips.

"Hermione, sister, there is much need to tell you something. Please keep your temper in check. I hazard a guess now is not the time father or mother needs your sharp words, times are tough as it is."

Hermione shut the book with a loud thunk, the dust from the old books pages spluttering out and floating in the air in a little cloud around them. Placing it on the other side of her on the bed, giving Anthony her full attention, Hermione readied herself for the onslaught that was sure to come. Life had been too easy for her here so far, of course fate, god, mother nature, what ever you wanted to call it, would throw a god damned wrench into the works. This was what the dread feeling was leading too, she knew it. Anthony's grim expression only confirmed her beliefs.

"There has been another Lancastrian uprising near Durham. Ed-... King Edward needs more men and steeds for his army. Father wasn't sure we would be called upon to fulfill our duties, but word has reached us that the king rides our way up the kings road and is planning to stop near here. That can only mean one thing."

Hermione blinked slowly, her tongue momentarily growing heavy as his words churned through her mind. She knew what he was getting at, of course she did, but she needed full proof. Hermione needed to hear him say it. War was like a wolf in the woods, you could hear it howling at night in the deserted lands, but you only truly feel the fear when you hear it scratching on your doorstep, see its muzzles shadow loom from under the door crack. Hermione felt like the proverbial beast that was war was so close, she could practically feel the heavy puffs escaping its snout as it snorted in her sent from the nape of her neck.

"Please Anthony...Tell me you are not saying what I believe you are. Surely there are other families close by. Someone else the king will call upon?"

Anthony simply shook his head with a small frown tugging downwards at the corners of his lips. All too sudden she felt like she was back in those woods, running with Harry for their lives, fighting a war none of them really believed they could or would win. How could they? They were children up against seasoned deatheaters. Anthony, her other brothers, the farmer sons from town, they had never gone to war before, they hadn't a clue of its true horrors. The horror's that carried on long after the blood had cooled on the ground, the scars, both mental and physical you would get. In short, they had no idea what they were in for. Hermione lost it, jolting up from her reclined position on the bed, she whirled on an unsuspecting Anthony, who in retrospect, looked like he had expected this reaction from her after all.

"No! You can't. We can't go to war! Let Edward beg at another's doorstep. Half the men are farmers! Most have only ever held a pitchfork, let alone a broad sword! What are we meant to say to the mothers when their sons don't come home? What happens when you or father are injured... Or worse? Who will look out for you? The king? No. This... Just no!"

Hermione was working herself up into a tornado of hefty emotions, but how could she not? Anthony had never seen a battlefield, never seen the dead lined up for collection from weeping relatives. Remus, Tonks, Lavender... Joking and lovable Fred. They all looked the same in death, cold and hard like ice, a mocking husk of who they were in life. Would she end up seeing Baron Rivers and Anthony like that? No, she couldn't allow that. The ghosts of her past haunted her sleep as it was, what slumber would she be able to catch if her father and brother joined them? Anthony's warm hand on her forearm snapped her out of it, but an idle thought crept through the sudden stillness she found herself in. How long would his hand be warm and not frigidly frozen?

"Calm. It is already said and done. Father packs as we speak, people are gathering and no matter your protest, it will happen Hermione. Have faith, we will come back."

But he didn't know that, none of them did. Hermione could not put her trust, her faith in a god she didn't believe in. She had seen to many gruesome things to do so. No, your fate was better kept in your own hands, under your own control. A stray arrow, a hearty well aimed swing, a simple fall from a spooked horse would be all it would take to snatch one of their lives away. Just like that, a snap of the fingers and they would be gone, dead. And what? Hermione would be sitting at home, reading, waiting for a messenger to either bring word or even their mangled bodies to the door step? She wouldn't do that. She couldn't let that happen. Hermione needed to do something, anything to make someone in this house see sense.

With out waiting for Anthony, Hermione jumped up from the bed and found herself storming and twirling around the hallways in a flurry of fluttering skirts and angered rosy cheeks. Soon, she came through the large arched oak doors leading to the entrance and court yard of their estate. And what should she see? Her father, mother and oldest sister Elizabeth helping load up a horse driven cart with boxes and bags of supplies. What were they all thinking? Why wasn't anyone, especially Jacquetta, trying to put a stop to this madness?

Storming her way over with loud echoing footsteps, her parents and sister only spotted her when she was nearly upon them, too late to quell her anger or take the quarrel that was sure to come indoors and away from the stable boys and guards milling around the area, busying for the trip to the kings road and battle that was to follow.

"Why am I just learning of this now? You can't go to war! This is ridiculous, no one here understands what will come of this. No one on our lands has been trained to be a soldier! No one here is equipped for war. It will be a massacre!"

Baron Rivers dropped the box he was holding onto the back of the cart and hastily made his way to his distraught and angered daughter, grasping her by the shoulders and looking her dead in the eyes. Hermione was too swept up in the ghastly images her mind kept conjuring up to pull away from him. Harry, Ron, Luna, Hermione, none of the Hogwarts students were raised to fight the war that was thrust upon them, and everyone of them had paid the price for that. A third of the students in her year alone had with their very lives. Was this going to be the same? Only two thirds making it home, battered and bruised and never truly themselves again?

"We knew you would react this way. There is nothing to be done dearest. We can and so we will. For the king. For England. For our family Hermione. To secure a place for us under the new York kingdom. There is no other option. It must go this way, even if we wish it didn't."

Hermione took in Baron Rivers shining eyes, his worry drawn face and the twitching in his fingers as he held her shoulders securely in his grasp. He didn't want this as much as she did. He was just trying to survive, make sure his family survived. Here she was, making it ten times harder for him. Anthony, John, mother, sisters, they didn't understand, but her father did. War was a horrible thing best left alone.

And just like when she was thrown into the wizarding world war, Baron Rivers was backed into a similar corner. Act now or die later. If they refused to help king Edward, and he won this uprising, he would remember what her family had done. Merlin damn it, they had only just managed to get Elizabeth's sons lands back. What else would the angry king take away?

Hermione reached up to her shoulder, clasping one of Baron Rivers large hands and squeezing tightly, eyes screwing shut for a few moments before blinking back open, her breath finally becoming even. She looked back at him and noticed the shining to his eyes wasn't his determination, but unshed tears. Hermione swallowed thickly and spoke brokenly back to her heavily burdened father.

"I just don't want anyone hurt. I don't want to tell parents why their children didn't come home. I don't want to see you or my brothers rooms empty and dusty. "

Baron Rivers pulled her to him with a tug, wrapping her up in a hug she only realized right then that she needed, as he brushed her hair away from her face. Speaking just loudly enough for her to hear into the crook of her neck.

"No one wishes to see such things, but life often plays that way dear one. I wont give no empty promises, you're too smart to buy it. But I promise with everything I am and was, I will try my hardest to bring myself, your brothers and our men back unscathed. In times such as these, we must do what we must. Remember that Hermione, it will serve you well in life."

Hermione gave a jerky nod, wrapping her own arms around Baron Rivers and squeezing back just as much as he was. She knew that already, but the pill was never any easier to swallow. And she hoped it never was, once you started to not worry, or enjoy war, that was the time you should worry for yourself and who you had become.

But she couldn't at the same time, with good conscious, let them go to war while she could do something, anything to ensure their survival. A plan started formulating in her head, taking shape and shades of recklessness. If she was caught, she was in deep shit. But she couldn't stay at home, safe and sound while they fought for their lives, for hers. When times called for it, Hermione would, and had, done what she must no matter how stupid her actions proved to be. This time was no different.

* * *

The week following the arrival of the king was a busy one for Hermione. To get her plan to flow as easy as it possibly could, she needed to make appearances in town, Well, the her she had crafted together from old armour and sly lies. She couldn't possibly go to the battlefield herself, no, all hell would break lose at the prospect. But to say if a young squire boy were to silently join the ranks of the mini army king Edward was building, no one would bat an eyelid. And at the time of medieval Britain Hermione thought she was in, with pox, plagues, syphilis and other degenerative diseases running rampant, it wasn't so uncommon a sight to see if a person wore a mask or a scarf tied around their face to hide the ghastly scars or open sores.

She would have just dawned a full helmet, but that would have been a sloppy move on her part. She couldn't wear the helmet twenty four seven, especially when they made camp, and unused to having her vision blocked by a metal visor was not a good idea. She had a high chance of dying bloodily in this endeavor, obscuring her eyesight would just make that possibility all the more a likelihood.

Thankfully, the time she know lived in helped her advantage against the odds stacked against her and her plan. Young boys had gone to war before and although she wasn't a young boy, her height and high pitched voice could easily be attributed to a young boy on the cusp of puberty. All she needed to do was lower her voice slightly, not enough to be blatantly obvious, but enough not to have the girlish edge to it. She just had to pay close attention to the small details, like purposefully making her voice break in the middle of a sentence. All the little stitches she made to this imaginary person made her disguise all the more believable, and all the more harder for someone observant to tear apart.

So every other day, Hermione made her way into town, bound chest, leather skull cap and baggy, stained clothing, face hidden by a dusty black clothe. She didn't just walk up to the other boys her age, or older, no she simply stood back and watched, talking only when she knew she had an audience. If people 'knew' her before the trip into battle, less questions would be raised when they did go and they saw her there, or him. She was just the quiet squire boy they had seen running around, nothing more, nothing less and certainly not Hermione Woodville in disguise. There was only one problem to her plan that cropped up in the second half of the week of her secret visits to town. John Lockshaw.

John Lockshaw was a burly boy, large, nearly six foot six with a crop of strawberry blonde curls on his head. One of the many farmers sons that stayed on their land, tending to oxen and wheat. He was out going, loud to the point of obnoxious and always either working, or wrestling with the other boys. His character wasn't the problem, she actually thoroughly enjoyed his company. The problem was he had fixated on teaching her the ways of manhood. A misguided attempt at being the big 'brother' that led the younger into the glorious world that was adulthood.

She lost count of how many times the boy had nearly outed her true self. When they had first met, accidently bumping into each other at the wheat barn when Hermione had taken the corner to fast, the boy had asked for her name and she had practically squeaked the first thing to come to mind. Harry Granger. He laughed heartily, the sound nearly shaking the barn itself, clapped her on the back roughly, one large roll of hay stuffed under his thick arm and said not to be so mouse like, even if she did look like one. After that first meeting, he seemed to be everywhere all at once like a rash she couldn't shake off. By the nearing of the end of the week, John Lockshaw had fully taken 'Wee Harry' under his large wing.

She couldn't complain, his friendship to her, to 'Harry' only solidified her disguise. But at the same time, it caused her to hate herself slightly. John Lockshaw was a good man, a nice man, and she was bare faced lying to him every time they came face to face. However, if that was the price she would have to pay to ensure her fathers, John's and Anthony's survival, lying to a person she liked was a lesser price she believed she would have to pay in the following days.

Hermione turned over in her bed, scratchy blankets pulled up and tucked in tight around her neck. Jacquetta had come in as soon as the sun had peaked upon the horizon, pulling and tugging the girls out of bed to get ready for the days events. Luckily, Hermione had played off a sick stomach, which she did have in all honesty, but it was more down to nerves rather than an actual illness. So, Hermione was left in bed, having said her goodbye's to Baron rivers and her brothers from her bedside.

The Rivers had left fifteen minutes ago, she was sure of it. The only sound she could hear coming from downstairs were the housekeepers and maids instead of the laughter and loud chats that often accompanied her large family. With one last steadying breath, Hermione whipped the blankets off and bolted out of bed. Scrambling to the end of her bed and falling to the floor, wincing as her bare knees scratched along the hardwood, Hermione ran her fingers along the shoddy stitching in her mattress that wasn't there a week ago. With harsh fingers, Hermione tore the six inch stitching open, dug her hand into the hay inside and once her fingers brushed softer material, began pulling out her Harry disguise.

She had to act fast or they would be already gone before she got there, so with hasty movements, Hermione tugged her nightgown off and pulled her baggy and worn clothes on, making sure to use a spare piece of long muslin to bind her chest, giving her a pubescent boy look. Boobs weren't commonly found on men unfortunately. Her fingers stalled on the last item to her stash, a small dagger. She had no wand in this time, and all though she could do wandless magic quite well, she still wasn't up to par as she would be with her wand in hand.

If she was going into a medieval battlefield, the least she was taking was a dagger. Hopefully when she caught up to the others, they would have a mini armoury she could pick through for something that could be useful, but at the same time something she could use. With her height, frame and size, she wasn't stupid enough to think she was going to go wielding a broadsword any time soon.

Hopefully she wouldn't need to do all that much fighting, all she needed to do was stick close to Anthony and Baron Rivers while they were fighting and watch their backs, once it was all said and done, she could vanish back into the night and get home before they could. If Jacquetta or anyone else asked where she had been, or where she had vanished to, she could simply say she got lost in the woods. No one needed to know any different... No one could know any different.

Clenching her fingers tighter around the daggers handle and with one last glance at the shiny metal, Hermione shoved it into the worn but comfy boots she was wearing. Pulling herself to a standing position, Hermione finished the last few touches to her disguise which consisted of tying her mane of hair into something as flat as possible to fit the leather skull cap on and wrapping the thick clothe around the majority of her face, leaving only her eyes peaking through.

Falling back to the floor, Hermione plucked out from the depths of the underneath of the bed a thick rope she had stolen from the stables three days ago. If she went walking through the house dressed as she was, she was sure to be caught before she could even leave the River's grounds, and that would not do at all. Knotting one end of the rope to her bed post, Hermione reached over and opened her window wide, flinging the rest of the rope out of the open space. Giving the rope a good and hard yank to make sure she wouldn't fall halfway down, Hermione clambered out of the window and proceeded to scale down the wall with cautious steps, kicks and slides.

Once her feet hit solid ground with a slight squelch, Hermione made a mad dash for the forest that surrounded the main house, needing the cover of the tree's to make sure what she did next would only stay between her and no one else. Once she was far enough in, Hermione hid behind one tree and gave herself a few moments to catch her breath and to make sure she wasn't followed by an observant maid or towns folk. When all she could hear was the odd tweeting of a bird or the rustling of leaves from the breeze being blown through them, Hermione steadied herself and apparated to the kings road.

The world swirled and became nothing but a constant motion of colour and that gut wrenching pull, then in a snap, everything was right again. Hermione had to brace herself against the tree she landed next to, nearly heaving at the sickness that slammed into her. Glancing down at herself, she thanked her lucky stars she hadn't splinched herself. Apparation with a wand was hard enough as it was, without a wand she was lucky to get through it in one piece it seemed.

Once she had regained her bearings, Hermione looked up and quickly ducked the hell down into a bush that sprouted out underneath the large oak she had grasped onto. She hadn't expected her family or the York's to be there so soon, yet both parties were converged in front of her on the pathway. Thankfully, both groups of people seemed to be too caught up in the other to notice her arrival or the noise that accompanied it, likely putting the crack down to a wild animal or one of the old trees creaking or breaking.

From her vantage point, Hermione could see the king getting back on his white stead, a man she had never seen before sitting at his right side on his own equally beautiful horse, and her brothers and Baron river, on their own horses, joining the two men's side. The king had his own men lined up behind him, some on horses and others, a majority, on foot. She could also see her own group of people, who had splintered off from her families side making their way to join the mass of bodies standing behind the king. Now was the tricky part.

As quickly as possibly, but still trying to be as inconspicuous as she could, Hermione stayed on her haunches and darted behind the thick foliage of the trees and bushes, hoping to get to the group before they reached the kings men. It would be easier to join them now, rather then to walk up all on her lonesome. It would raise to many questions.

She had nearly made it, was just about to stand up and slither into the large group on the edge of the path when a hand came slamming its way down on her shoulder. Hermione was up in a second, hand grasping the one one her shoulder tightly as she span to meet a sight she had not expected, making her heart stall and then gallop into a frenzy of beats. John Lockshaw was smiling down on her.

"What the hell you doing down there Harry? We ain't got no time for this. Come on, I'm up front looking after Lord Rivers and his sons, you can join me and keep me some company. God knows you'll get trampled if I let you wonder off into that crowd."

Hermione could have laughed until her sides hurt then, and she had to stop herself from hugging the big brute. Instead she was able to hold herself to a quiet chuckle and nod her head in his direction, following John as he made his way to the front where her brothers and fathers sat proudly. Standing behind the Baron, John and Anthony, next to John Lockshaw, Hermione kept her head down, worried at the close proximity of her family. If they turned around and looked down, got one good look at her eyes that were still on show, it would be game over.

When the kings was on his horse and his reigns pulled taunt in his hands, he lifted his arm up and swooped it forward, telling the men behind him to begin their march. When every one began to march and the horses began their trot, Hermione had to push her legs to keep up with the stride of the pace, hoping to keep beside John and in turn near her father and brothers.

Glancing behind her, Hermione gave one last look to her mother and sisters standing at the edge of the pathway, watching forlornly as they grew further away. Even from her spot, Hermione could see the anxiety marring Jacquetta's face and in that single moment, Hermione knew she had done the right thing. As stupid as it may be, Anthony, John and Baron rivers would be returning home, the worry from her mother would be for naught, even if Hermione had to bleed to make it an inevitability instead of a possibility.

The kings voice made her head snap back in front of her. He wasn't yelling, or even talking to the men behind him, but because she was so close to her father and brothers, she could hear him talk over the pounding of the horses and men to them.

"We should reach the camp by nightfall. Halfway there my brother's brigade will meet up with us."

Hermione's father was the one to speak back to the king. Hermione made sure to keep her face down, practically glued to the movement of her feet and the forest floor that was passing by underneath them.

"Which brother is that my grace?"

Hermione tried to make herself seem like she wasn't listening, keeping her eyes straight down but her ears wide open. There was a lot of men as it was, with the kings brother joining in on the fight, with his own men, exactly how large was this Lancastrian uprising to warrant so many people to fight? Wizarding wars, or battles were normally less then a hundred bodies fighting at one time, most likely attributed to them being a smaller population to muggles.

Now, not only did Hermione have to worry about being caught, or stricken down on the battle herself, she had to worry about being able to stay near Baron rivers and her brothers side when the battle did go down. If there was so many people, on both sides, fighting it out like dogs, then it would be all too easy for Hermione to loose sight of the people she had did this whole thing for to protect... Bloody hell. Couldn't she catch one break? Just one?

"My youngest brother Baron Rivers, Richard of Gloucester. We'll make camp tonight, by dawn it will be battle and then by the grace of god, it will be the end of the damned Lancastrian uprisings."

Hermione swallowed thickly at the declamation. Battle. The one thing she never thought she would find herself in again, especially willingly. She was going to see bloodshed, likely be one of the many that would have to cause it. She would see people die, she may have to kill people. Giving a quick glance to her brother and her father, Hermione viciously pushed the fear swelling in her stomach down.

If battle was the cost, she would pay. They would see another sun rise. She would make sure of it. Today was not the day any of them would die.

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER: Richard and Hermione finally meet. But It's not exactly the best of circumstances...

A.N: It's been a long time, I'll hold my hands up and admit that. I'm sorry for the long wait, but I hope you guys liked this chapter. The next chapter will be out a lot sooner, I just need to polish it off.

As always, thank you to everyone who reviewed, favourited and followed. I hope you like were this is going. And if you have a spare moment, please leave a review, they make my fingers type faster ;) -GoWithTheFlo20


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